“Because you know I wouldn’t thank you.”

The execution of the plan went smoothly. Hejtman Vojta Jelínek, who was still residing at Michalovice, when informed about the venture in general terms, offered his help eagerly and at once. Intending to set off towards Roimund with a small reconnaissance party, he declared his readiness to take a more roundabout route and escort Reynevan to the Jičín highway, where he could easily join a merchant caravan.

They set off later that very day. Around noon.

Berengar Tauler awoke and came to sometime in the afternoon. He had stopped vomiting and could stand fairly straight and even walk. He went to the latrine by himself and returned without anyone’s help, so it appeared that he had recovered. Enough for Scharley and Jan Čapek to nail him down regarding the secret underground passage leading to Trosky. Assuming the stern faces of Inquisitors, they showered the now healthy man with questions intended to corner him and catch him out.

“What passage?” The pale Tauler paled even more and blinked but was by no means frightened. “What underground corridor? What are you talking about?”

“How did you plan to get us into Trosky? Using a secret passage, wasn’t it?”

“No, damn it! I don’t know anything about a passage! I have—or rather had—a comrade at Trosky, the head groom… I counted on his helping us… He owed me a favour… He’d have got us into the castle or found out what we’d need to do… What the bloody hell is this?”

Scharley and Čapek didn’t answer. They rushed out of the room and ran downstairs, issuing orders as they ran.

They nearly exhausted their mounts trying to get there before sundown. They covered practically the entire Jičín highway, almost reaching Kost Castle. They encountered two merchant caravans, a coppersmith with a wagon containing copper products and a troupe of wandering acrobats, a beggar and an old woman with a basket of penny buns.

But none of them had seen a poet from Champagne. Or anyone answering the description. Not that day, not any day.

Reynevan had vanished. As though the ground had swallowed him up.

Scharley insisted they follow Vojta Jelínek and his troop and catch up with them to find out what had happened and where they had left Reynevan. Jan Čapek firmly refused. There was no chance of catching up with Jelínek’s troop, which had several hours’ start on them. Night was falling and the area was dangerous. Too close to Catholic castles. Too close for a detachment numbering only twenty horse.

They retraced their steps along the same road, looking around attentively. Searching for a lone rider. And when it grew dark, the glow of a campfire.

They saw nobody.

There was no sign of Reynevan.